


The Record Runs Out

by Falt



Category: L.A. By Night, Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: Character Study, Comfort/Angst, Complex Villains, F/M, Love, Sympathetic Villains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-06-23 16:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19705174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falt/pseuds/Falt
Summary: Suzanne returns home to Vannevar after her journey through her past.Slight spoilers for Season 3, Episode 6: Beauty and Decay and Season 3, Episode 5: Play the Devil





	1. Chapter 1

Suzanne returns to the extravagant home she and Vannevar share after her three-night journey to the past, letting herself in through the grand entryway and removing her coat. She looks up the marble staircase, lit by the crystal and gold chandelier, listening carefully for any sign of (un)life. The mansion is utterly silent. Not even the ghouls are about, she realizes, stepping onto the staircase, hands trailing up the mahogany bannister as she makes her way to the second floor.

It’s nearing sunrise; the sky seen from the still unshuttered windows is starting to turn to a dull purple. She still has about an hour, certainly nothing to worry about yet. Suzanne rounds the corner at the top of the stairs. The faint sound of classical piano drifts wearily through the corridor, and she follows the sound to their bedroom. Silently opening the door, the sound swells.

Vannevar is lying on the bed, the deep violet comforter tossed aside, hands folded neatly on his stomach, face contorted into a troubled look. The windows are open, curtains drifting gently in the slight breeze. The piano music comes from the antique record player, approximately halfway through a vinyl disc at the moment. Several others litter the table, however, indicating that he’s been like this for at least a couple hours.

She knows that he is not asleep, cannot be asleep, but if he hears her arrival he makes no motion to indicate. She closes the door before moving across the room to the windows, carefully shutting them and drawing the blackout curtains over the glass.

Suzanne returns to the bed, sitting down on the edge and reaching out to caress Vannevar’s face, running a hand through his tousled hair. He opens his eyes, the tiniest of tired smiles coming to his lips. He reaches up to touch her hand, fingers playing on her wrist. He shifts, allowing her room to lay beside him. She does, laying so she faces him, continuing to stroke his face as he closes his eyes once more. He says nothing, and so she remains silent.

Instead, she studies the face of the man who has been her companion for over two hundred years. Even with his eyes closed, he looks exhausted. There are no bags under his eyes, for they are blessed (cursed) with such perfection, but the way his expression presents itself causes his lips and eyes to droop in subtle melancholy. 

She wonders what the last three night have been like; she’d made a point not to leave him alone for very long once his behavior had started to shift. She wonders if that’s the reason the house is otherwise empty. A meltdown might certainly have driven them away.

The record runs out. Neither move.

Time in her memories had brought back thoughts swept aside by time. She’d not forgotten the way Vannevar had been as a neonate; no, she’d simply not thought about it in years. Now, she wonders at the changes brought on by time. The man beside her, once frightened and fascinated, now fearsome and bored.  
But she realizes now that the old Vannevar is still there, has always been there, under it all. The curious Ventrue afraid of every shadow, looking to her for protection and comfort. Three nights ago, she saw that fascination in his eyes again as Garrick toyed with his crystal orb. And then, all at once, the fear returned as he begged her for help, his eyes turning from fascination to world-weariness as he rested his head on her shoulder. Yes, he was there, but under a veil of madness and hunger that was quickly spiraling out of her control.

For the first time in decades, Suzanne has no idea what the future holds. Once the picture of confidence, she cannot imagine what will happen should Vannevar’s madness intensify. She worries that the day where she can no longer remain at his side is fast approaching.

Pulling closer, she rests her head in the crook of his neck. He shifts, wrapping and arm around her. And for today, she allows herself to be comforted by him.

Dawn comes, as does their sleep.


	2. Sonata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a (mostly) normal day in the Thomas household  
> Set between the Memoriam and the episode with the Hollywood Sign (spoilers for the Memoriam episode onward)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part two that nobody asked for, and that I didn't intend to write until I sat down

Suzanne wakes at nightfall to a surprisingly empty bed. Looking around, the room looks largely undisturbed, the covers set aside the only indication that Vannevar had woken first. He woke earlier than her now more often than not, but usually he would wait for her, watch her eyes flutter open once the sun was firmly settled below the horizon. Tonight, that was obviously not the case.

Pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she sits up, she hears once again the familiar sound of a piano, faintly easing its way through the halls of their Los Angeles mansion. This time it’s not the sound of a vinyl record; their player is silent and still on the desk in the bedroom.

Suzanne pushes herself from the bed with ease, padding across the plush carpet in bare feet. Soft carpet soon gives way to hard, cool marble as she makes her way down the immense, immaculate staircase towards the sitting room where they often conducted business. The piano is louder now, clearly echoing a beautiful sonata, impeccably played, with nary a note dropped or cut too soon.

She pushes the ajar door open, silent as she makes her way towards he who is drawing such beautiful sound from their antique grand piano. His hair is still wild from the previous night; he had not yet taken the time to tame the curling locks of the evidence of stress and sleep. As Suzanne draws closer, she can see that his eyes are closed as he moves with the motion of his hands, deft fingers dancing across the ivory, foot lightly tapping pedals as if they born to tap out this singular rhythm. If he notices her presence, he makes no notice, barely reacting as she curls her arms around his torso, careful not to limit his full range of motion as he continues to play. She closes her eyes, allowing herself to feel only him and the art he performs. Vannevar presses a kiss to her cheek without pause, and she smiles to herself. This is a normalcy they rarely achieve these nights, and she relishes it.

The sonata comes to an end and Vannevar’s hands drop to the smooth wood of the bench, pressing closer against Suzanne. She runs a hand through his disheveled hair, finally pressing a kiss to the top of his head and straightening.

Suzanne asks one of their ghouls to find them something to eat, and within the hour they are brought two willing individuals. Seated in their lavish dining room, the Frenchwoman settles on taking her meal from a smooth, dark wrist so she can watch Vannevar carefully feed from a young man’s supple throat. She smiles, even with her lips pressed to soft flesh, thinking about the way Vannevar would press a series of tender kisses to her own neck when he was feeling playful.

Their meals are led away when they are finished, and Suzanne moves to sit closer to the Prince, whose eyes are blessedly clear and focused.

“I missed you,” are the first words to tumble from his mouth as he reaches out to take her hand, rubbing his thumb into her palm.

“And I you,” Suzanne replies, smiling warmly. “My journey was quite fruitful, however. I shall have to speak with Strauss tonight. I have more information about the ley lines that may be useful for him and Garrick.”

“That’s excellent to hear!” His grin is genuine, and Suzanne can almost forget the way he had acted the night before, the way he had acted when Garrick and Strauss had paid them a visit several days earlier. She would give up the power they had over the city if it meant she could have this version of her lover back permanently. The Princedom wasn’t worth this.

They dive into a full conversation, their first true exchange of ideas in over a week, perhaps longer. Suzanne tells him about her Memoriam, while he recounts the events of the last three days. Guilt wells unwelcome in her throat as she reads between the lines as to how difficult those days had been, but her journey had been a necessary one. He was still here, looking and sounding better, in any case.

They spend the better part of the night enjoying each other’s company, Vannevar returning to the piano once the conversation ran out while Suzanne lounged on the sofa with a book. It was a picture of peace, only interrupted when a ghoul came to announce the presence of Maximillian Strauss. Though Suzanne sat up immediately upon his arrival to the sitting room, Vannevar completed the particular piece he was playing before standing from the bench, ignoring the polite clap from the Tremere as he made his way across the room to sit beside his Seneschal.

“Your Highness. Miss Rochelle,” Strauss greets, bowing slightly. “I hear that there is news about those ley lines we spoke of several days ago.”

Suzanne nods, launching into a summary of her findings. He exchanges questions for answers, inquiring about certain aspects of her memories and sharing his own speculations about their relevance to the situation at hand.

“Based on this information, I believe we can reasonably assume that there are ley lines hidden somewhere in Griffith Park. The question is where specifically,” Strauss asserts.

“I give you and Mister Garrick the authority to carry out an investigation of the Park and find where these lines are hidden. You may have access to any resources you require, including my new Sheriff and her Scourges.” Vannevar surprises them both in his clarity and boldness of speech.

“Yes, sire. Thank you,” Strauss responds. “That does remind me. Are we to carry out the plan that we previously discussed regarding our Anarch prisoner?”

And just like that, the confident air that was permeating the air around Vannevar shatters. The difference is palpable. Suddenly he looks at Suzanne with an uncertain expression, trying to recall the relevant discussion. Three days felt like three years, details fuzzy, even the name of the Anarch in question escaping his grasp.

Suzanne reaches out to hold his hand, gripping in reassurance. “Yes, the Nosferatu,” she replies. Taking the provided initiative, she begins to spell out their desires for Jasper’s fate. Vannevar stares at her amazedly, nodding excitedly as she discusses the specifics of his End.

“We can string him up on the Hollywood Sign!” He interrupts, earning a surprised and confused look from his companion.

“Ye-Yes. Of course, my love. The Hollywood Sign.” Suzanne looks back to Strauss with a small smile, forcing herself to act as if everything was normal. “We’ll have our new Sheriff take care of that. We can send his coterie a message about his location a half hour before sunrise, so they won’t have time to reach him. Perhaps they’ll even perish in their attempts to save him.”

Strauss nods. “Very good, my Prince. I’ll have that communicated immediately.”

“Have what communicated?” Vannevar suddenly breaks his gaze from Suzanne’s delicate face to Strauss’ red shades and back, having lost track of the conversation in his reverie.

It is almost impossible for Suzanne to maintain a neutral expression that would even attempt to maintain the charade that nothing is amiss. “We can it discuss it later, darling…”

Strauss, at least, has enough wisdom to take his leave, once again bowing and murmuring the requisite formalities.

Even in this state, Vannevar can tell he’s upset Suzanne, even if he’s not sure exactly how. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” He pulls toward her, his embrace tight as he nuzzles into her soft hair. Suzanne squeezes her eyes shut, feeling blood prick at the edges. She hasn’t cried in years, but the anger and sadness and frustration are becoming too much even for someone who has lived as long as she. She doesn’t understand why this is happening, what has changed, and it feels like a knife with every manifest. They were so close to making it an entire night without incident, and now Suzanne feels like a fool for hoping for even that much.

When she feels like she can reasonably speak without vitae spilling over, she reaches up to stroke his face. “It’s alright, my love. Let’s just prepare for bed.”

She doesn’t have the heart to ask him to stop when he repeatedly murmurs “I’m sorry” into her ear as they make their way toward the bedroom. The Sleep takes him early tonight, and she allows those tears to finally fall as she runs her hand through his still disheveled hair.

She wipes the evidence away and allows the Sleep to take her too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but I love them, your honor

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this fic made me hyper-aware of how shitty being a vampire would be. Do you cope with your world-weariness by napping? Shit out of luck. Eating good food? Shit out of luck. Mostly the napping though. Vannevar needs a damn nap.
> 
> Amelia and Bryan are incredible at what they do and the characters they portray are amazing. This fic is dedicated to them.
> 
> Comments and gentle criticism are greatly appreciated.


End file.
